Day 2 of the reading went just fine. The group of readers I'm supervising are scoring essays steadily, not overly quickly or slowly, and with a few minor tweaks (i.e., a couple of them are skewing just a hint too low, so I left feedback on a couple of scores), they are right on track as far as the rubric. Some years I've worked with readers who were really nervous and needed a lot of reassurance and second eyes on their scores, but this group just kind of works independently and asks only the occasional question. I am grateful, and I hope the week continues this way. It's been steadily busy, but very manageable and not stressful so far. We have five more days to go—less if we score quicker than anticipated and run through the essays before the final day. But we'll see; if we don't finish on time, then our employer should have hired more workers. Lean staffing, more with less, we all know the drill.
Side note. I originally typed "my" readers in the previous paragraph but deleted and revised it. Increasingly I don't love how much I use that personal possessive pronoun. It feels like something I want to wean myself from as much as possible. Can't some things just be things and not belong to anyone?
Had some conversation with N in the kitchen last evening about some of the big personal things he's processing currently, and also some of the things I've been thinking about. I won't share his stuff. But I can share my part of that conversation, which included recounting the last conversation I ever had with my ex. I had left him three months before, but I wasn't sure how you were supposed to proceed, and at the time I thought that being an "adult" meant staying on speaking terms with former partners (even if they'd broken your face and pointed a gun at you and cheated on you, I guess). He had called to tell me he was going to propose to a woman he had begun seeing and it didn't feel right not to let me know. He and I had been a couple for a decade, engaged for more than half of that, and had only recently split up. I remember being floored that I didn't feel jealous at all, was more just marveling at how quickly he appeared ready to make a lifelong commitment with someone else. (N and I were very much a couple by that point, of course, but we were still getting to know each other and were nowhere near ready to move in together yet, much less get married.)
The part of our phone conversation I remember most vividly is my ex putting on this "concerned friend" kind of persona and saying he was "worried" about me and that I "could definitely do better" than N. I think my mouth fell open like a fish's at his presumptuousness. Like he felt qualified to opine on the subject or he imagined I was negotiating for a fatter paycheck or a better job or a fancier car—instead of, I don't know, falling in love with a wonderful person because of what I had glimpsed so far of his passion and character and wit.
I wish I had shot a zinger at him for being so impudent, but best I remember, my response was relatively polite, albeit firm about its not being appropriate. Honestly? I think I was embarrassed for him. Anyway, I said I was uncomfortable with the conversation, but he kept pressing, and I said I was going to hang up if he didn't stop. He didn't, so I did. We've never talked again since. He contacted me a couple of months later to ask me to cancel the car insurance and a credit card that were linked to his, and I didn't answer him. He had to get his dad to email me, and I corresponded with his dad instead and then took care of both things. He's texted me a few times over the years, but I've never responded. That was really the last time we talked. I still can't think of any reason we would ever need to speak again.
I'm writing a poem about N and about my mom, and it seems to be coming in bits. Most often for me, the poems arrive whole cloth, but this one is trickling in piecemeal. So I just stick my pan into the stream each day and glean what small bits of gold wash through. We'll see what, if anything, I can string together out of these odds and ends.
On the recommendation of a friend, last night we watched Oddity, and I enjoyed it. Really scary and striking and compelling. I think N's comment was something like, "What a nasty little movie," but it seemed clear to me that he meant it in an admiring way.
The old brain is a little tired tonight from the work, and I have to be up again early tomorrow and several days after that, so I think we're going to order takeout Thai and maybe watch another weird, silly, and/or scary movie.
